That's Just What Friends Do

Winston flexed his fingers, watching his skin turn white as it pulled taunt over muscle and bone and then reverted back to brown as he relaxed. There was something grounding about knowing his body worked in such a mechanical way. He always did this before a fight. 

The lanky blonde had been asking for it. All he had done was ask a pretty girl at the bar if he could buy her a drink. She had smiled, but then, all of the sudden, the guy got in his face, told Winston that was “his girl,” and dragged him outside. Apparently, talking to a girl warranted a fist fight. 

So now they were shuffling in the back parking lot of the rundown bar, the red fluorescence of the ‘EXIT’ sign and a flickering street light being the only light they had to go by. Big, slovenly old men who smelled more of alcohol than flesh and bone jeered loudly, urging the two opponents to start swinging. They had tumbled over each other to get outside once they heard of the conflict. A few college guys in polos milled around, trying to get the older crowd to place bets. Some girls huddled together, giggling and taking out their cellphones. There were a couple of people glued against the exterior wall who just stood there silently, smoking a cigarette and waiting for the show to begin. 

“Get the fight started ya fuckin’ pansies,” A man with a great big beard and an even greater beer-belly slurred, sending his friends into raucous laughter. 

The blonde faced Winston with tense shoulders, looking around himself in an anxious triangle. His eyes darted from Winston, to the quivering beer-belly, to the girl this fight was for–who was looking at her phone–then back to Winston. He noticed the other’s hands were shaking. Winston nodded at him. 

“You’re–you’re gonna regret talking to my girl,” he said. Winston could barely hear him over the clamor of the spectators. “You’re gonna regret messing with the Charles.”

Winston fought the urge to roll his eyes. They had never discussed talking in the third person.

“I do what I want,” Winston said, spitting on the ground for visual effect. 

“Oh yeah?” Charles dug his feet into the gravel, bringing his fists up to his face as he settled into a fighting stance, “Well so do I. Come at me.”

Winston didn’t need more prompting and swiftly closed the gap between them. The crowd got louder at the sudden aggression, their cheers pounding into his skull, making it hard to think. They circled each other carefully, but Winston wasn’t looking to throw a punch. Instead, he whispered. 

“Untuck your thumbs from your fists, you idiot. You’ll end up breaking them.” 

Charles glanced down at his hands, “Oh, right. Thanks.”

“Any time.” 

The men circled each other for a few more moments. Charles’ footwork was erratic. He shuffled from side to side with no discernible rhythm, not to mention his feet were so close together he could easily be pushed off balance. A flicker of annoyance ran through Winston as he remembered the hours he put into teaching Charles the correct stance and techniques last night. What a waste. Still, Winston sloppied up his own stance so it would make more sense to the crowd when Charles won. He still couldn’t believe he agreed to pull this stunt in the first place, but then again, that’s just what friends do. 

“Punch each other already!” A girl who was obviously recording yelled. 

Charles looked at him and raised an eyebrow, a question in his eyes. Winston gave a small nod. He could land the first blow. 

Winston watched curiously as Charles punched. His eyes were closed, which was never a good thing to do when you were fighting someone. He missed completely. His punch was nowhere near Winston’s face, but still he managed to catch sight of the ring on Charles’ finger, the one he had almost lost so long ago. 

It was the boy’s first street fair. They were hardly twelve, but they felt like adults walking the streets by themselves, spending their own money. This applied more to Charles than to Winston, who had far more to spend with. So many vendors had lined the street selling jewelry, clothes, medicines, art, and more that it seemed impossible that they should be able to visit them all. By the end of the day, they had been there so long that Winston felt like the July sun had baked into his eyes and he would be seeing summer forever. The sun had clearly baked into Charles as well, but that didn’t get the boys down as they ambled down the side streets leading back to Charles’ home, goodies in tow. 

Winston twirled his only purchase between his fingers, admiring it. It was a silver ring engraved with tiny stars. He was busy counting the specific amount of stars when suddenly, Charles poked him. 

“Winston!”

Winston jumped, and the ring went flying from his fingers and then proceeded to roll down a nearby sewer set into the side of the road. Winston made a dive for it, but the ring had already toppled into the black abyss. He felt his stomach drop with the ring and simply laid on the dirty road, tears prickling the back of his eyes. 

“Oh no!” Charles said, hurrying up to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

“What? No–”

But it was too late. Before Winston could even process what was happening, his best friend was already wriggling himself down into the small opening of the sewer, one that looked like a killer clown would be popping out of it any moment. 

“Stop it!” Winston called. “You’re going to get hurt.”

“I’ll just be a moment,” Charles said, grinning. Then, he dropped down into darkness. Winston heard his friend’s yelp echo out of the sewer a moment later.

Winston hurried to the edge, spotting his friend a few feet below. “You okay?”

“Yup!” Charles called back, and immediately started searching through the mush and debris for Winston’s ring. There shouldn’t have even been that much as it was a simple storm drain, but it had stormed the night before. Even with the shadows cast by the sewer, Winston could see his friend was filthy from his searching. However, after fifteen minutes of feeling through trash and leaves and other unknown items, the ring was secured. 

“Aha!” Charles had called, holding up the ring for his friend, his face smeared with dirt. The ring glinted red in the dying sunlight. 

Winston smiled and shook his head, “You keep it.”

Charles’ eyebrows furrowed, “Why? Are you sure?”

“It looks better on you,” Winston's chest was ready to overflow with fondness. “Thanks for getting it, though.”

“That’s just what friends do,” Charles replied and then threw up his hands. “Now help me up, Winston. Winston. Winston!”

Winston shook his head, his memory interrupted. “What?”

“Stop dodging my punches.”

The sound of cheers and the smell of alcohol came rushing back to him. He was in a parking lot, fighting his best friend who wanted to impress a girl for some reason he would never understand. Right. Or not fighting, as it would be revealed.

“You’ve dodged my last three punches,” Charles hissed. “I thought you would let me land one.”  

“Yeah, sorry,” Winston shook his head. “I got distracted. Boxer’s instinct. Hit me now. Hook me, or something.”

Charles hesitated, “You sure?”

“Your girl is getting bored.”

Surely enough, she was. Not much time had passed since the match began but she was already smiling at something on her phone. 

“Okay,” Charles said, taking a deep breath, and then louder, “You won’t dodge this one, punk!”

And with that, Charles landed a right hook that sent Winston flying back thirteen years to his rickety front porch and a bruised cheekbone. 

The night had been rough. Night’s with his dad at home always were. The routine of evasion, confrontation, and consequence has long since been normal to him, even if it wasn’t understandable. Tonight, however, his father paid particular attention to his face. Winston had bruises in other places, but nobody else would see those. Kids would see his face and they would talk, and the last thing he wanted was for kids to whisper about a night he wanted to forget. 

There was no light on in sight, but Winston didn’t need to see to recognize the squeal of bike tire breaks and the sound of his friend’s voice, calling his name. 

Winston wiped his tears in haste as Charles approached. Charles was aware of the situation, but this is the first time Winston had ever called him about it. His cheeks began to burn, regret surging up his throat and into his eyes in the form of more tears. 

Charles sat down without a word. Out of the corner of his eye, Winston saw Charles mouth open and close, again and again, like a fish biting for a hook. 

Like a friend looking for the right words to say. 

“We don’t have to–” Charles began.

“I’m sorry,” Winston said at the same time.

“For what?” Charles asked, scooting closer to Winston across the jagged wood of his front porch. 

“For calling you.” Winston shivered. He crossed his arms, trying to rub the goosebumps away. “I was upset. It was dumb.”

Charles shook his head, “No. It wasn’t. I’m glad you did.”

Winston remained silent, his eyes tracing the wounds on his knuckles. 

“I got you something,” Charles said, and began rummaging through his bag.

Winston didn’t bother looking. He didn’t want Charles' useless attempts to make him feel better. He shouldn’t have even called–

Winston jumped as something impossibly cold touched his cheek, shock jolting him upwards.

“Jesus!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Winston said, raising his hands. “It’s just an ice pack. Here.”

Winston looked at the outstretched hand and shook his head.

“I just–,” He felt a knot in his throat and swallowed it down, “I don’t have the energy to even hold that right now.”

“Oh,” Charles paused. “Well, I’ll hold it for you. Stay still.”

“What? No. I didn’t mean–”

The ice pack was pressed against his face again. For a moment, just a moment, Winston considered pulling away again and telling Charles to go home. It would be a lot easier to resist and avoid the guilt that came with accepting kindness. But he was tired tonight, so he let his face sink into the support offered by his friend’s hand.

“You’re a good friend,” Winston whispered, a few tears rolling onto the cool surface of the ice pack.

“I’m just doing what friends do,” Charles whispered in return. 

Friends also resist the urge to murder when the other makes them see stars, Winston thought, clutching his cheek. The crowd was ecstatic.

“You get ‘em, beanpole!” Someone screamed. 

Charles’ blue eyes held an apology but he didn’t say anything. Winston glanced over. The girl was finally watching. 

Two could play at keeping up appearances.

“You gonna fight back or what?” Charles taunted, his ego growing with the roaring of the crowd.

Winston just smiled, and then launched himself at him. Charles hit the gravel so hard that Winston felt the air rush out of his lungs as they collided together. He sputtered, struggling to choke in air.

“Fuck,” Charles said. “Uncalled for.”

“Says you,” Winston retorted, pushing him harder into the gravel. 

“I got overexcited!” Charles exclaimed, causing Winston’s jaw to clench. Before he knew what he was doing, his hands began to rain down on Charles’ head in a series of slaps. 

“I–” Slap. “Showed–” Slap. “You how to–” Slap, slap. “Pull–” Slap. “Your.” Slap. “Punches!” Slap, slap, slap. 

Winston raised his hand for one final blow when  the design on Charles’ shirt rummaged through his mind and plucked yet another memory from the archive of their friendship.

“Is that the shirt I got you?” Winston asked, hand still raised.

Charles looked down at his chest, hands still covering his head from the assault. A murmur of confusion ran through the crowd at the sudden stillness as Charles inspected.

Realization rolled over his features, “Oh my god.”

Laughter burst out of Winston so strongly and suddenly it was like a dam breaking. That laughter was perhaps the most violent thing that happened that night, causing Winston to slide off his friend and roll around on the hard gravel as it gushed out of him. He held his stomach, but it was no use. Charles was joining in now too, tears streaming down his face as they both fed into each other’s laughter like oxygen feeds fire. For a moment all they could do was let it shake their bodies. Through his blurry vision he could see his friend punching the pavement as he cackled, clearly imagining the same thing he was. 

“The bird,” Winston gasped out, his cheeks burning, “It shit on you!”

“I know!” Charles’ was practically convulsing. “Do you remember how I cried?”

“In the middle of the beach!” Winston kicked his feet. He was dimly aware of the audience shuffling away, probably back to their friends and drinks and screens, but Winston didn’t care. They could have stuck around to watch him roll around the gravel forever and he wouldn’t care, so long as he was laughing with his friend, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do. 

“And you really thought–” Charles flung himself into a sitting position, “This abomination would cheer me up?” He pointed at his shirt, now covered in dust, which read ‘Mermaid Hair, Don’t Care’ in bright blue letters. A shiny mermaid with perfect beach waves was depicted under them. 

“Well clearly it’s good enough to wear to impress a girl,” Winston said, his laughter finally subsiding. 

Charles looked around the deserted parking lot and groaned, “I really suck at this, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Winston smiled.

Charles responded with a volley of small rocks in Winston’s general direction, “We were late! It was the first shirt I saw.” 

Winston sighed and then stood up to brush himself off. “You’ll get him next time, tiger,” He held out a hand. “Want to go home?”

Together, they walked through the dark streets, not saying a word. A feeling like desperation crawled up Winston’s throat. He hadn’t meant to ruin Charles’ chances with the girl, no matter how foolish the whole plan was. The need for forgiveness bubbled in him, even though he knew Charles wouldn’t accept it. The dam could not hold back the tsunami swirling inside him, however, and he couldn’t help but open his mouth to–

“Thank you.”

Winston stopped in his tracks. Charles turned back to look at him, eyebrows knit in confusion. “What?”

“I– I thought you were mad at me,” Winston said. “For ruining your shot with her.”

“What? No. You really helped me out,” Charles said. He walked up to Winston, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re always doing stuff for me, you know? Ever since we were kids. So yeah, maybe this time didn’t turn out exactly as we planned, but you’re always there for me. Why wouldn’t I be grateful for that?”

Winston felt like a deaf person hearing for the first time, which is to say, he couldn’t believe it, “What? But you’re always helping me. I was just trying to repay you and I–”

Charles held up a hand to stop him, “We could argue this all night, but there are three things you can’t deny. One, you stayed up till two A.M. with me last night to teach me boxing to impress a girl. Two,” He pointed at his shirt, “You got me my favorite shirt in the world. And three,” He pulled Winston into a hug, “you’re my best friend.” 

Winston let himself stand there for a moment, savoring the feeling of the rare hug Charles and him deigned appropriate to give one another, then wrapped his arms around the other man. He let his head rest against the other’s shoulder for a moment before pulling away. A smile tugged at his lips despite his previous melancholy. Trust a friend to do that for you. 

“Thanks again,” Charles said, matching his smile. 

Winston resumed his footsteps. He felt lighter, somehow. He was seeing himself through kinder eyes now, even if it was just for a night, and it was as if the earth were rejoicing with him and his borrowed revelation. Perhaps that was friendship, reminding each other of all the reasons to love oneself. Perhaps that was the only reason to trip around this crazy life at all. Winston knew they would go home and laugh about this. He hoped that in twenty years he would walk through his friend’s back door, see the light in his eye on a random Sunday afternoon, and know they were both thinking of the same thing. He hoped they would laugh the same as they did tonight: suddenly, violently, and lovingly. He hoped that was what life was all about. 

“That’s just what friends do.”